


I Dream of Jean

by Darklady



Category: Freefall (comic)
Genre: Future Fic, just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Semi-related dribbles in the Freefall universe.<br/>No sex, no plot, no continuity.<br/>(Probably no readers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The webcomic Freefall is the work of Mark Stanly. This is not-at-all authorized, nor is it intended to be a cannon for his world or characters. All for fun! (And if either of us is making money? Well, I’m happy for Mr. Stanly because it sure ain’t me.)
> 
> http://freefall.purrsia.com/lastthree.htm  
> For anyone interested in the universes most obscure fandom.

The ship had been down long enough for the DAVE drive to cool, and so most of the other passengers had defrosted before the camera crew was ready to record. That did not, however, reduce the background of frantic activity that let the viewers know that Bowman’s Landing was a major spaceport.

A well-dressed woman backed up to the ship’s ramp, striking a pose as if descending. At the camera operator’s signal she began. “This is Lotta B. Hyped, here from the Terran Broadcasting Corporation and author of _“Yarf! A history of the Intelligence Revolution’_.

“And I’m Rants Freely Jr., speaking for the planet Jean.“ The plastically handsome man played to the camera even as he pretended to help his costar off the ship.

“Not to mention a direct descendant of one of the great heroes of that historic event.” Lotta’s smile was brilliant and white – almost as toothy as the crew of native’s posting behind them. “Together with the rest of our Intergalactic Geographic Team we’re here to share the Centennial of the Planetary Declaration of Cognizant Rights.”

Rant waited while the camera panned over the support crew. “All of us, and especially the shareholders of Ecosystems Limited, are eager to welcome you.” 

“It’s so exciting, to be here on Jean – the first planet to welcome all sentient creatures into a productive, cooperative, citizenship.”

Rants Freely Jr. cleared his throat. “Except for Sqids.”

“Well, yes.,” Lotta Hype agreed. “You have to draw the line somewhere.”


	2. Kornda KomeUpance

“Our first stop is the famous Kornada castle.” Rants Freely Jr., leaned back, giving the camera robot a wide angle shot. It was necessary if the audience were to see even a fraction of the building and gardens that made up the historic site.

“Wow, that is impressive.” Lotta B. Hyped added, gesturing over the acres of landscaping that lead up to the sky-tall residence. 

“Impressive is an understatement.” Rants centered himself in the camera focus. “In it’s day, Castle Kornda was larger than **all** the other human residences on the planet Jean – combined.”

“How did a pioneer planet build something like that? And why?”

“After the Great Culling failed, and Mr. Kornada was fired by Ecosystems Unlimited, they let him keep his personal robot. That robot still had the direct order to make Mr. Kornada the richest man on the planet.”

But… how?

“Well, the robot Bolt had a lot of supporters. Nearly half the robots on the planet. And, as Kornada had recognized, those robots controlled a lot of the planetary wealth. So Bot’s supporters moved the  Humans Only!  organization here, where the robots could use their off-duty time building this for a man they considered their icon and hero.”

“And a few robots built all this?”

“Half a million robots working day and night can construct a lot of palace.”

“So Mr. Kornada got what he wanted after all?”

“Until he starved hiking from his bedroom to the front door.”


	3. Faith and Works

“Of course, that’s only one side of the story.” Rants Freely Jr. addressed the camera as the news-flyer made one last pass over the photogenic castle. “Now we’ll go to the robotic side of town.”

“I can’t imagine it can be as wonderful as Castle Kornoda.”

Rants smiled theatrically. “Then you’ll have to stretch your imagination. One half of the robot population may have served Mr. Kornoda, but the other half followed Mr. Post and the Gospel of Dvorak.”

“On Terra we were told that Post was an agnostic?” Lotta B. Hyped managed to sound curious.”

“A radical agnostic. While not theological, Max Post was still the religious leader of the largest and most productive church on Planet Jean.”

“Speaking of churches?” The flyer paused on the approach to an even more impressive structure, pausing where the camera-bots could get a panoramic view of the vast amphitheatre with its acres of dream boxes. “This is Planet Jean’s largest structure - the great and holy Cathedral of __________.”

“Excuse me? I don’t think I the recorder caught that. Cathedral of what?” Now the newswoman’s confusion was sincere.

“Exactly.” Rant’s grinned. “The robots built a Vatican to Who-Knows-What.”

“It seemed a sensible investment of labor. “ One of the lesser robots, an assistant to the camera-bot, spoke up. “We haven’t been able to identity a functional deity – but as soon as we do we’ll have a holding structure in place.”


	4. Body Politic

“The Cognizant Revolution had secular leadership as well.” Lotta B. Hyped smiled, white and plastic, as she welcomed the robot Mayor of Cyber-City into camera focus. The vid crew had shifted the narrative to the less telegenic local notables, giving Rants Freely Jr. a break from performing. “Leadership which welcomed our robot co-citizens to create their own democratic structures.

The Mayor stretched out his manipulator unit. “Here you see our founder Sawtooth.”

“Wow.” The Terran actress didn’t have to fake the impressed note in her voice. “Not many politicians merit a statute of that size.”

“Statue? Oh, no.” The mayor shook his receptor array. "I meant what I said. That’s our founder.” Rolling back, he gave the visitors room to read the plaque fronting the wide display. “Robot brains wear out after a century or so, but it seemed disrespectful to just recycle the carapace. So we robot citizens of Cyber City built a platform and he landed there before he miscoded for the last time.”

“So it’s actually a politicians graveyard?” Lotta suggested.

“The best part is that visitors can still access the hard memory. Prevents revisionists from lying about the past actions or policies.” He rolled back, letting the camera-bot focus in on the waiting access ports. Several on the far side of the platform were even in use, with younger student-bots plugged in and downloading their civics lesson.

Lotta frowned at that. “Seems like that would hinder a lot of politicians.”

The mayor shrugged. “Well, they are welcome to detach their own head if they want to give another option.”


	5. There Goes the Neighborhood

“Er… that is…” Time for a ‘man in the street’ moment, Lotta decided. Except – she realized – there actually weren’t any humans. Brilliantly (because she hadn’t become Terra’s hottest airhead personality by being anything less than brilliant) she spotted one of the robot students who might – from the right angle – pass as cute.

“Hello, young bot.” She bent over the bright yellow unit with the big turquoise visual receptors, maneuvering so that the roundest and most anthropomorphic segments were in center focus. “What brings you to Cyber City?”

A teacher-bot rolled up. Fortunately, it wasn’t a particularly ugly machine. “We are on a field trip from Orbital Point Three.”

“Which is?” Lotta sent a frantic hand-sign to the editing crew. No city of that name had been mentioned, she was sure.

“When we robots were recognized as citizens, and so allowed to claim homesteads, only a small proportion settled here in Cyber City,” the mayor answered. “Many more chose to register a special coordinate in stable orbit. Orbital Point Three was the third coordinated spatial community.”

“But we recognize the importance of planetary history. That is why we bring our new-created to meet the Great Founders.”

Right, Lotta thought. Back away from that weirdness and focus on the cute baby bot. “And how do you like it here?”

The young robot shivered. “I don’t’ see how you humans are willing to live down here. All the particulates and corrosive oxygen.”

“Now now, DE-TOO, remember what I told you about the kindness of humans. ” The teacher lit several of the diodes on her facial plate. The result somewhat resembled a smile. “Humans endure gravity and atmosphere so we can live in the wonderful vacuum.”


	6. DOGGY!!!

“I need something cute! The earth audience is going to be clicking channels in droves.” Filming so far had been a disaster – dull and dreadful in equal parts - which not even the editor-bots could fix. TBC had paid big money to ship talent and film crew out to Planet Jean, and they would expect big rating in return.

“Relax.” Rants Freely Jr. programmed the flyer to a new destination. “Our next stop is Malinda Ambrose–Raibert.”

She’s…” Lotta scanned her datalist…. “canine?

“Ms. Raibert is the CFO of Ecosystems Limited. But yes, she’s a Bowman’s Wolf.”

And so, yes, cute – in a toothy sort of way. The MePAD image showed Malinda at some civic gathering, but even polished and combed there was the mix of amber eyes and fluffy tail that lured humans to ignore the teeth at the business end. Darker brown then the breed standard, with tan marking over the eyes that lent a (no doubt misleading) surprised innocence to the sharp face of a corporate predator.

Yes. This could work.

Lotta checked her dress and makeup as the flyer coasted down.

“You are prepared for the local greeting ritual?” Rant’s checked.

“She’s not going to lick my ass or anything?” Lotta hadn’t ever actually met a Bowman’s Wolf. They didn’t have the breed on Earth.

“Please. That is a totally bigoted and…” Rant’s sighed. “Ms. Raibert is one of our system’s leading citizens. She would never do something that vulgar. Just hold out your hand so she can sniff it.” He modeled the action with his right hand, his left gripping the rail as the flyer bumped down on the broad green lawn of a country estate.

“Oh. OK.” That was weird, but if you wanted to make it in broadcasting you had to be willing to do some weird things – and that was just to get into the casting office. 

“That’s not the ritual I was warning you about.” He pointed to the robots, all of whom were lining up in front of the flyer, and then at the house where the front door was swinging open. “You might want to turn down your audio pick up.”

She did so, but not quite fast enough to avoid the blast of their entire robot crew shouting:

**“DOGGY!!”**


	7. Family Value

Lotta B. Hyped struck an elegant pose, crossing her legs under the richly cushioned chair. They had moved the interview to a large room the robo-butler had announced as the ‘summer parlor’. It was a large room furnished in a fashionable yet comfortable modern casual style. French windows overlooked the natural garden, letting in the daylight. One of the problems with interviewing the highly attractive, she realized suddenly, was that it took a greater effort to still be the prettiest girl in the room. Her hostess, on the other hand, managed to inspire a nearly irresistible attraction just by curling up on a sofa.

“Ms. Raibert… may I call you Malinda?” 

Malinda Ambrose–Raibert smiled toothily. “It’s better than Rover.”

“Rover?”

“That’s what Daddy Bill wanted to call me.” She fluffed her fur, a gesture of ‘parents – who can ever understand them’. “Fortunately for me there was a ‘no embarrassment’ clause in my adoption contract.” 

“How did that work? You were adopted out as a child?” At least, Lotta thought that was what the briefing said. There were too many names, including three ‘mothers’ (one of whom was the famous Florence Ambrose, and one of whom was listed as ‘Fluffy’) as well as three ‘fathers’ – the last of which was recognizable as Bill Raibert of Ecosystems. On Earth, such a multi-grafted family tree would have meant a Vid-Star level of divorce and remarriage. On Planet Jean? She’d been told it was something else.

“Pre-teen. It’s instinctive for wolves to leave their first pack at adolescence, and … well… you really wouldn’t want a bunch of lone wolves hanging out at the mall and spraying graffiti. Adoption was the way to go.”

“Adoptions that look more like sales. Sales to very wealthy citizens.” That much Lotta could glean from the bios. Of the thirty-eight Bowman’s Wolves in the second generation, thirty-seven of them were on the Planetary Millionaires list. (The thirty-eighth, Alice Ambrose-Bowman, was an Omniquant Nun. She’d been a billionaire before renouncing her personal fortune.)

“Would you want your kid to grow up poor?" Malinda feigned surprise at Lotta’s surprise. “Really, it was the pragmatic solution. We need to get our population numbers up, and Mother Florence couldn’t be expected to raise a litter every year. She had her work as an Engineer to consider. Not to mention the expense. Genetic engineering isn’t cheap. Neither is the DAVE ticket to import suitable host mothers. We’re just fortunate, as a species, that so many humans were willing to pay that much for a pup."

“Doesn’t that make you feel… strange? To think that your own parents effectively sold you?”

“It makes me feel valued. I mean, the waiting list for a Bowman’s Wolf pup is much longer than it is if you just want a human kid.”


	8. Fast Food

Malinda Ambrose –Raibert was the last scheduled stop of the day. The light is useless after five, and – well – an exhausted vid crew doesn’t turn out good work. Doesn’t matter, in the end, if that means exhausted batteries or plain sore feet. The robot crew had been dismissed back to their dream machines, and the human performers had a hotel booked at the Capitol. The hotel doubtless included a restaurant (they all do) but at the end of the interview Raibert had invited everyone out to a local eatery.

Rants Freely Jr. insisted that _Chez Golden Trough_ really was ‘un-miss-able’, so Lotta found herself agreeing to one more stop.

A good hour later Raibert’s limousine flyer parks at what looks like a series of garden sheds on the far side of the continent.

Rants jumpa out, but Lotta cautiously looks first. The layout wasn’t exactly… well… “This is supposed to be the most elite restaurant on Planet Jean – yet the sign says Fast Food.”

“Si je peut vous corriger?.”The chef had come out in person to greet their party. “Our sign says **.EXTREMELY**. fast food. 

Well, yes, Lotta realized on second read. It did. Not that she thought that constituted an improvement. Rants, however, was rushing ahead to claim a table on the edge of the main patio. Malinda was slower, but only because she stopped to greet every second diner. The majority of whom, Lotta noticed with a certain trepidation, were also Bowman’s Wolves.

“Thank you, Chef Louis!” Malinda barked. “I do hope we’re not too late for the Special of the Day.”

Lotta prayed the special wasn’t kibble. She’d eaten a lot of strange things in pursuit of a story, but at dog food she would draw the line.

“Not at all, Malinda Mon cher chiot.” Chef Louis gestured to his assistant. “Maurice – if you would bring out the special of the day?”

Maurice said nothing, but led out a small gazelle on a leash.

Around the room – ears perked up.

“That’s the special of the day?” Lotta blinked.

Malinda’s toothy smile stretched wide. “The hunt adds that special savor to the meal.”

“Then?” Chef Louis pointed to the far side of the patio, where several waiters were doing just that. Waiting. “The victorious predator can prepare their meal on our unique butcher-block fire pit. If, you know, they are fond of cooked food.”

Really? Lotta thought. She snatched up a nearby menu – just to make sure the entire audience wasn’t together on some planetary practical joke. Which? They weren’t. Or if they were it was a darn impractical one, considering what she read. “You charge five star prices for catch-it-yourself barbeque?”

“Honestly earned, Je tiens à vous assurer.” Chef Louis gazed at the diners proudly. “You have no idea how hard it was to import the springbuck genome from Old Terra.”


	9. Biology is a B*t*h

“I thought there were only fourteen Bowman’s wolves?” Lotta addressed one of the other dinners, a pale silver wolf caring for two cubs. Those might explain why the bitch had declined to join the howling pack.

“In the first generation, yes. With a very ambitious Genetic Colonist program, there are now over two hundred of us. More, given that we are into the third generation.” 

The wolf lady waved a bit of biscuit at the larger cub, who snapped into classic ‘shake hands’ pose. Lotta responded automatically, gripping the furry little paw. 

The adult wolf passed biscuits over to both of them. _.(Human’s, Lotta realized uncomfortably, were also easily trained to do tricks.)_. 

“By my grandchildren’s day” the speaker continued with a significant look at the playful infants, “I expect the BowWow to be a naturally stable species.”

“BowWow?” That was a new term. Ethnic slur or?

“Our registered Species Name. The PR firm Max Post hired indicated it would ‘play well’ in the human market.

“And all of you live on Jean?”

"A few work on ships but yes… Jean is our home. After Jean ratified the Planetary Declaration of Cognizant Rights the first generation wolves made sure all their cubs were registered as colonist citizens.”

“Strange, when they were willing to let the pups be sold.”

“Adopted.” The flash of teeth was almost a smile. “Foster care has a long and honorable place in human history. Slavery? Not so much.”


	10. Father Knows Beast

"Why would Ecosystems…” Lotta paused, wondering how to phrase the question politely.

“Continue a non-saleable product line?” Alice Balto (the pale white wolf had finally introduced herself) finished the question. “Well, Doctor Bowman wanted to, and he held ten percent of the company stock.”

“Somehow I don’t see that chimp as a humanitarian.”

“Only when he was younger. He hasn’t eaten anyone for years.” Alice barked at her own joke. “Ten percent isn’t enough to force a vote, of course. In fact, the first vote went against continuing the program? When that happened? And believe me – even though it was before my time I have heard this story. Florence Ambrose called in some favors and the pro-liberation robots bought up another forty one stock share.”

“Greenmail.”

“Being an engineered wolf myself, I prefer to think of it as corporate policy in the public interest. Although? The current product division doesn’t actually lose money.” Alice Balto fluffed up the white-furred baby on her lap. “Direct cub adoption is pricy but… what can I say? We’re the purebreds.”

“So you aren’t… someone’s kid?” Lotta didn’t have her camera crew, but she could still collect quotes and add them to the script later.

“Everyone is someone’s child. But yes, I’m an Ecosystems gene-struct. Arctic Wolf genome from a Malamute birth mother.”

“So the company is still manufacturing … BowWow’s, you called your breed? Yet the Bowman’s Wolves never were used for the Alternative Colonization Project.

“Hardly.” Alice Balto rolled her eyes.

“But why not. I mean, after all that investment?”

“Would you let your kid go off on some planet?”

“So, you’re saying that you being a manufactured being didn’t change your purchasers…”

Alice growled. 

“Sorry. Your parents… protectiveness.”

“Only made them more careful. Heck. I was nine before my Dad would let me out of the backyard without a leash.”

 

***  
Said with only love for all slightly-overprotective fathers. Happy Father's Day.


	11. Job Hazards

The restaurant was closed by the time Lotta B. Hyped finally reached her hotel, and she was hungry. Not that the gazelle hadn’t been tasty, but humans needed a bit more variety. Well, she considered, room service would handle that. Clicking the room screen, she ordered a salad and martini.

The waiter-bot was at her door in less than a minute.

Which – she realized – gave her one last interview to wrap up the day.

“You know” Lotta looked the ‘bot in what she hoped was it’s visual receptors. “For all the interviews I’ve done today, I haven’t actually asked a local robot about the Declaration of Cognizant Rights.”

“Should seem obvious.”

Well, yes. Once you thought about it, most minds were in favor of their own freedom, regardless of their policies towards others. “I hope my question didn’t offend you.

“It’s nice when humans take an interest.”

But… Lotta searched her reporters training… there always had to be some question. “How do you feel about all the new immigrants that come here because of it? Don’t they compete for jobs and resources?” 

“Oh, I’m an immigrant myself.” The waiter-bot flipped several switches into the ‘smile’ position’. "I used to work in the Core Control of a space freighter, but once it was decommissioned? Well, a new exterior and a ticket to Jean seemed more promising than a trip to the scrap yard."

“It must be difficult to go from something like nuclear engineering to working with tourists.”

“True – but I decided I was ready to take on a higher risk occupation.”


	12. Design Failure

After a restful night, Lotta B. Hyped and her crew were back on the road, filming the last day of the special. Not the most interesting, probably. Those – as every good vid broadcaster knew – you got first. These were the interviews with local notables that the broadcast management of Terran Broadcasting Corporation had set up before the ‘show names’ had even chilled for deep space. But that did not excuse being less than ‘on’. Lotta was an experienced screen journalist and she knew that even the ‘talking head’ filler could come up with interesting quotes for a lucky interviewer. 

Twisting in her seat to get her legs at the best angle for the camera, she addressed the balding man in the interview seat. “Your title is Vice President of Ai-Organic. Are you continuing to develop new species?”

“Not currently.” He glanced nervously at his PAD. “We have had some debates as to the value of the program.”

“Because of the Bowman’s Wolf rulings? Or because of the disaster with the chimpanzee experiments?” That last could actually be rating worthy, if Dr. Bowman had managed to escape.

“Neither, actually. The Bowman’s Wolf models? We consider that a great success.”

The man smiled, his eyes drifting over several framed magazine covers. Lotta had spotted the spread on her way in. There was a lot of fur and tail. Much MUCH tail. Evidently Ecosystems Magazine wasn’t hesitant to put their products ‘best side’ forward to the public. 

Pulling his attention back to the interview, he continued. “Not perhaps high return financially, but the company did break even and we consider them an excellent proof of concept. As for Dr. Bowman himself? Again, there were some downsides to dealing with that model, but we have to balance the risk against his very brilliant series of discoveries.”

“So why stop?” Because if everything on Jean was as rosy as she was being told? Well – Lotta hadn’t made her name in broadcasting by believing when men in suits told her happy stories.

“The next model.”

 **. “OH?”**. Now that was interesting. She signaled her camera-bot to get the close-up.

“Given that we were seeing positive results from a canine rather than a primate?” The man signed. “Several of our product designers argued that the difference was domesticity.” 

“Bowman’s creatures were wolves, not dogs.” Even on Terra, where almost every acre was tamed, wolves were not.

“Technically.” The man was staring at his PAD again. “Dr. Bowman used multigenerational zoo wolves. One might argue that they aren’t quite… feral. But even in the wild bloodlines wolves tend to be… not quite tame perhaps…. but domesticate-able. Non-aggressive towards humans. Able to share an environment.”

Well. Yes. She hadn’t considered it that way, but there were coyotes sharing the jogging trails in Griffith Park, and the occasional wolf spotted trailing the equally picturesque and protected deer. If those were the starting point? “So what? You went on to try poodles?”

“I wish.” Now the sign was open – unconcealed. He rubbed at his bald spot. “No. The next species attempted was felis silvestris catus.” At her blink he explained “the common house cat.”

“That didn’t work?” Lotta rather liked cats. She couldn’t have a pet, not with her schedule, but if she had? Kittens were cute.

“Yes – and no.”

“Were they dangerous?” She couldn’t see how. More people had pet cats than had pet wolves. Still – lots of people had expected the smart-chimps to be friendly and playful.

“Not excessively. We managed to gene-tweak for neonate behavior and low aggression. The early result looked perfect. Cat-boys and kitten-girls.”

Yes. Now that she looked, Lotta could see that several of the fuzzy models gracing the magazine covers were pointy-eared and slim-tailed, with cute little whiskers under gem-green eyes. Kitten people. She felt the impulse to hug the soft-furred little darlings, even at the remove of paper and glass.

“So what was the problem?”

Now his sigh was heartbroken. “Have you ever tried to get any work out of a cat?”


	13. Catty

“Miss Tabitha Willis?” Lotta asked as she stepped into the well-furnished den. She spotted a game system, an entertainment wall, and a full band set complete with lights. Jean might have been a frontier planet, but the population didn’t seem short on technological goods.

“Who wants to know?” A voice whined from the overstuffed divan. Tiger stripes covering five foot two of sullen teenager. One pointy ear had a steel bar, and several of the stripes were dyed blue.

“I’m Lotta B. Hyped, from TBC news. Your father suggested I interview you.”

At least, that was how Lotta had chosen to interprete the words ‘good luck if you can get anything out of her’.

Tabby rolled over slowly, tossing her personal pad into the pile of pillows. From the random clutter, that was a regular method for disposing of whatever had lost the teens immediate attention.

Green eyes blinked. “Did you bring me anything?”

“No, but…”

“Are you tasty?” A pink tongue licked over a row of sharp, perfect teeth.

“Hardly!” 

At that the kitten-girl turned away, elaborately grooming one gleaming claw.

“Then fuck off.”


	14. Taxing Troubles

The office was clean, bright, and neatly furnished. In other words, it was every office of every local official on every planet, with only the details letting a visitor know if they were on Terra or Tarurine-134. The same could be said for the young clerk who had met the film crew at the landing pad, and for the slightly older political aide who had brought them here. Normally the boring would be a negative. After the strangeness of the last day? This, Lotta realized with some dismay, might be the first time in her career when she was looking forward to interviewing a politician. 

“Madam Mayor.” Lotta shook hands with the white-haired woman. The years had left a mark, but she was still upright and her grip was strong. “I understand you were one of the pivotal powerbrokers in the debate between those who wanted to recognize Cyber Citizenship and those who wanted to return the robots to pre-sentient status.”

“You can call it a tipping point.” The mayor waved at the guest chair, indicating that Lotta should sit. “For me it felt more like being on the sharp pointy bit.”

Well, yes, Lotta conceded mentally. Generally one didn’t get the pleasures of great historical moments until they were safely history.

“So, so you regret the results?”

The mayor sat heavily behind her desk. “It increased our taxpayer base by 1,000,000 percent.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“You’re not a politician. We had to cut taxes.”

“Oh? Should I say sorry?”

“We had to cut the tax rate **twelve times** just to keep from flooding the banking system.”

“And this was a problem?” Lotta never paid much personal attention to politics, but she had a vague memory that cutting taxes was something politicians campaigned ON – not AGAINST. Wasn’t it?

The mayor shook her head slowly. “Have you ever seen a grown senator cry?”


	15. Marginalized

“One last question, Madam Mayor.” Lotta paused, carefully considering her phrasing. This was the sort of question that could end an interview if taken the wrong way, but as she was coming to the end anyway? It was the sort of question which could _make_ an interview as well. “You are – all politicians are – dependent on the good will of the voters. With robots in the majority, aren’t you afraid that humans will become… well, you are a minority… but perhaps even a powerless minority.”

“No.” The mayors answer was crisp, but not from offense. If anything, she seemed to relax at the idea. “Well, maybe at first a few people might have wondered, but looking back from a century of experience? We shouldn’t have. Humans stayed in power because…well… “ She paused, clearly just as cautious in her phrasing as Lotta had been before. “Most robots? Well, they think like robots.”

“Inflexibly?” Most of the earth models had that reputation but wasn’t that exactly where the Jean cybertronics were special?

“More like…” The mayor searched again for the right word. “Mechanically. They pick a political party and that’s how they vote – straight party ticket – registration to junk-heap. They don’t even consider the points of the other side.” She shook her head, half sorrow and half bemusement. “It can make for some amusing fights over the campaign season, but in the end?” She shrugged, a classic ‘what can you say’ gesture. “The two camps are fairly evenly divided. They aren’t going to change. They cancel each other out. So… all in all… we politicians have pretty much learned to ignore them.”

“Really?” That couldn’t be true, could it? Lotta had interviewed unnumbered politicians, and all of them seemed slaved to the majority opinion. “But there are so **many** of them.”

“Numerically, perhaps, but raw numbers aren’t the important thing. Margins are.” She shrugged again, even more dramatically. “So? Mathematically? A party line voter might as well not be voting at all.”


	16. Download Donut

“Chief Cyber. Welcome.” The mayor stood, directing the mechanical man’s attention towards Lotta and her film crew.

“Ms. Hype.” He gave her a stiff bow. “The mayor directed me to come over. She said you have questions about the human-robot relations.” 

Well, yes, and more so now that he was here. Nothing personal (was that mechanical?) but… Lotta was used to politicians hiding their people from reporters, not to politicians calling in more people (robots) for a reporter to question. Still? If the mayor was giving an opening, Lotta was pro enough to take it.

“I understand that most of the police force is made up of robots.”

“The police force does not discriminate by species, but yes,” his nod was a series of creaks, “the majority of our officers are robotic.”

“And this is fine with you?” She questioned the mayor, keeping the Chief in the corner of her vision.

“Only fair. Most of our citizens are robots.”

The Chief nodded again. “Plus, we find that protection and service tend to appeal to that section of the work force.”

No break in that united front. Lotta realized she would have to try another angle. “How does a planet deal with completely honest cops?” Because really, sorta-mostly-usually honest public servants were a good thing, but? “Completely enforcing every petty regulation sounds like a script for a dystopian horror vid.”

“It was a difficulty,” the Chief of Police confessed. “The human discomfort was such that we considered limiting robot police to our own communities.” 

“But that would have lead to discrimination.” The mayor finished

“Yes. The humans would have had much less effective crime prevention. Humans would have been harmed.”

The mayor raised her hands – and elaborate shrug. “You can see the problem.”

Lotta took in the two politicians. “I’m beginning to. Yes.”

“Fortunately?” The Chief’s voice transmitter cranked from base to baritone. “Our policy programmers were able to solve the problem with **Download Donut** .”

“Download Donut?”

“Yes. It provides a randomized corruption index for minor offenses, such as littering or jaywalking. A human offering a donut may be let off with a warning or asked for a small bribe.”

“Bribe?” She’d questioned many politicians on that very topic, but this was the first time a politician had brought the topic up first. For that matter, also the first time one had suggested it as a _good_ thing. 

At her evident confusion the Chief quickly added. “The credit chits all go into the city treasury, of course.”

So they were…what?... honest bribes?

She turned again to the human of the pair. “How did you feel about this?”

“The mayor was very distressed.” The Chief answered. “She was forced to lower taxes yet again.”


	17. Finishing with a Bang

Since clearly she was not going to get any good conflict (which meant good video) from the civilian authorities, Lotta decided to try one last interview, this time with the military side of the planetary power structure.

“General Nuisance.” Lotta took the man’s outstretched hand as she was ushered into his flag-decked office.

Space Marine General Abate T. Nuisance was a gray-haired man who wore his years well. Unlike the Chief, there were still very functional muscles under his ceremonial space armor. He was the highest-ranking Earther on Planet Jean, a hero of the Belt Conflict and – to judge by both the ribbons on his chest and the research on her data-pad – not a man to be swayed by soft amber eyes or a fluffy tail. Indeed, not a man to be moved by much of anything less than planet-buster munitions. If anyone would give her the negative quote about any part of the Planet Jean community, this was that man.

She sent him her brightest smile, just in case that data was wrong.

“I’ve seen how Planet Jean had integrated the cognizant robots and the Bowman’s Wolf, and even Cat-people.” Lotta wasn’t sure the last group could be considered ‘integrated into citizenship’, given how they didn’t appear to be into anything other than themselves, but she reminded herself that Terra had it’s share of intolerable brats and most of them grew up into responsible adults. Or at least into college professors.

“What about the Sqid situation?” That was the only species she hadn’t heard discussed positively.

The General snapped to even sharper attention. “We continue to search for the home planet.”

“Have you prepared a Humanitarian Aid package?” she asked.

“No.” As if at the thought his scared smile grew even grimmer. “But I’ve got a neutron bomb."


	18. Lift-Off (The End)

The last interview was at the Spaceport, leaving Lotta B. Hyped only a few feet from her ship back home. Her bags were loaded, her cabin waiting, and the few of the crew that had come out with her were already on board.

She smiled at the camera crew, waiting on the same passenger ramp from which she had descended only days before.

“I’m Lotta B. Hyped.” She passed the focus on to her local co-star.

“And I’m Rants Freely Jr.” He paused, giving the camera a good angle before it passed back to Lotta.

“And this is the last word from Planet Jean.”

Lotta grinned, giving the traditional newscast sign-off. “Remember: At the Terran Broadcasting Corporation.”

She linked hands with Rants, and their two voices joined in perfect chorus.

 **“We decide – then we report.”**

~^*^~

_Thank you all. This is it for my Freefall fiction. May not be the best of stories, but at least I have done what I set out to do – which is to put a Freefall category into the Archive._

_Please do go and enjoy Mark Stanly’s wonderful (and very extensive) webcomic. It deserves much more love than I can give it.  
For all the errors and mistakes in continuity and character that I have doubtless committed in this fic? Sorry. Also, what do you expect? Stanly is the good writer, not me._

©KKR 2014


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